Life Support

by Robert Whitlow

  Alexia watched Rena closely and saw something she’d seen before in the faces of women she’d represented.

  “Are you afraid of him?” Alexia asked.

  Rena blushed. “Jeffrey? Of course not. He’s my brother-in-law.”

  It was all Alexia needed to see. Rena wasn’t telling the truth. For some selfish reason, Jeffrey was seeking to manipulate Rena, and she was scared.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Alexia asked.

  Rena answered with an edge in her voice. “There’s nothing to talk about. And keep this confidential.”

  “That’s always true,” Alexia reassured her and backed off. “And if you change your mind later and want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

  “Okay,” Rena said as she began walking down the hall to the ICU. “Let’s go see Baxter.”

  Alexia followed her. The attendant on duty recognized Rena and told them to check with the nurses inside the ICU area.

  A nurse pulled Baxter’s chart for Rena. Alexia could see the young man’s motionless legs from the counter where she waited. It was sad to think that the body that had been so active a few weeks before was simply waiting to die.

  “His condition remains the same, Mrs. Richardson,” a young nurse said. “Dr. Berman saw him this morning and requested an update from Dr. Jackson, the pulmonologist.”

  “Do you know who will come this afternoon?” Rena asked. “I’d like to talk to one of the main doctors.”

  “We never know, although Dr. Kolb usually handles the afternoon rounds.” The nurse looked at her watch. “He could come by anytime between now and six o’clock.”

  Rena and Alexia walked slowly into Baxter’s room. The sound of the ventilator greeted them. Even to Alexia’s untrained eye, Baxter was beginning to deteriorate. He was pale and pallid with a pasty funeral home tint to his cheeks. Rena reached out and with trembling fingers touched the side of his face. There was no response.

  Alexia took in every detail. Ezra Richardson could rant and rave, but the body in the bed was not living. Any doubts Alexia had about the merits of the petition she’d filed with the court evaporated when faced with the artificiality that dominated the room. The merciful, kind thing to do would be to release Baxter from his expensive prison.

  “I’ll leave you with him,” Alexia said.

  “No, it’s too painful for me to see him like this,” Rena answered.

  Alexia looked for tears in her client’s eyes, but they were dry.

  “His father was the reason Baxter was depressed and angry,” Rena continued in a quiet voice. “I wish I could turn back the clock. I would insist that we move away from Santee and make Baxter get help for his depression. We could have lived anywhere in the world, but he couldn’t escape from his father’s grip. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

  They returned to the waiting room, but neither Dr. Kolb nor Dr. Berman appeared. Alexia called the neurosurgeons’ office, but the receptionist was no help. The physicians were somewhere in the hospital and wouldn’t be returning to the clinic where they worked until the following day.

  “I’m going to the hotel,” Alexia said. “I’ll be working on the case tonight and in the morning. Call me if you think of anything. Where are you staying?”

  “In a suite at the Weston Poinsett.”

  Alexia wrote the name and phone number of her hotel from the confirmation sheet she’d printed from the Internet and gave it to Rena.

  “When will we get together?” Rena asked.

  “I’ll want to meet with you in the morning about 10:30 to go over your testimony.”

  The two women walked out together. There was no sign of Ezra Richardson, and Ken Pinchot hadn’t called Alexia’s cell phone. Alexia wasn’t surprised. Pinchot knew there was nothing to do but go to court, and Alexia suspected he’d advised Ezra that a meeting was a waste of time. In the case of In Re Baxter Richardson, there was no common ground for discussion or compromise. It was truly a case of life or death.

  36

  Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.

  MATTHEW 6:10 (KJV)

  Even though Rena would ultimately pay the bill for her expenses, Alexia hadn’t considered the Weston Poinsett for herself. She was working and needed a quiet place to focus, not a luxurious suite with distractions. After she unpacked at a local Hampton Inn, she kicked off her shoes and lay on the bed. The time at the hospital had emotionally drained her. Nothing had happened after Ezra left, but the inherent tension of the ICU and the uncertainty of what lay ahead had sapped her energy. She propped up a couple of pillows and mentally ran through her preparation for the hearing.

  In her briefcase was a detailed outline of questions for Dr. Draughton designed to insure that the pertinent information was communicated to the judge. However, strict adherence to a script could cause Alexia to overlook the potential of an unexpected answer that opened the door to valuable testimony. At the top of several pages of her questioning, she’d written “Slow Down and Listen to the Witness.” Experience had taught her that direct examination needed to have a leisurely, narrative feel. She wanted to lead the judge to a conclusion, not drive her in a heavy-handed way. Even technical medical data could paint a picture, and Alexia wanted Judge Holcomb to visualize Baxter’s condition for herself.

  The greater challenge lay in trying to anticipate the testimony of Drs. Kolb and Berman, whose specific opinions about terminating Baxter’s life support were unknown. The possibility that Ken Pinchot would bring in another doctor hired to testify at the hearing created an additional challenge that Alexia would have to meet on the run.

  Cross-examination of Ezra would be tricky. She wasn’t sure how hard to push a man whose son was dying. Yet if Ken Pinchot tried to paint Rena as an overeager widow, Alexia would have no choice but to show that the elder Richardson has his own motivation to keep his son alive and the power of attorney intact. After their sparring match at the hospital, Alexia had little doubt that she could provoke the elder Richardson to anger.

  She skipped supper and went for a swim in the indoor pool. No one else was in the water. The controlled environment of the hotel swimming pool was a different world from the raw ocean. No hidden riptides lurked beneath the surface. The only current in the pool was the gentle swirling caused by the filtration system. Once in rhythm, Alexia swam on autopilot. It was exactly twelve strokes from one end of the pool to the other. She missed Boris. An hour later, she stepped out of the water.

  She returned to her room and got ready for bed. Instead of flipping through the TV channels until she became sleepy, she took out the Bible that she’d packed in her suitcase. Drawing up the covers to a cozy level, she opened the book and resumed reading in the New Testament. The words continued to speak to her on a level she’d never known with anything else she’d studied. It wasn’t a matter of intelligence; it was the result of a new capacity to understand spiritual truth. She was alive to what God had to say. Pausing, her thoughts returned to the Richardson hearing, and for the first time, Alexia, the zealous advocate, prayed about the outcome of a case.

  “God, let me win this hearing,” she began. “It’s not right for Baxter Richardson to lie unconscious in a hospital room being kept alive by a bunch of machines. Don’t let the judge be fooled by what the other doctors say.”

  Something felt awkward, and she stopped. She didn’t have the confidence that what she prayed was convincing the Almighty of the justice of her cause.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked the empty room.

  No answer came from the beige-colored walls. On a slip of paper in her Bible she’d written Ted Morgan’s phone number. Picking up her cell phone, she punched in the number but didn’t press send. The minister wasn’t a lawyer, and she wasn’t sure exactly what to ask him. She held the phone lightly in her hand for a few more seconds and then pressed send. The minister answered on the third ring.

  “This is Alexia,” she said. “I hope it’s not too late to call.”

  “No
. It’s odd, but I was working on the estimate for the renovation on your office. I should have it ready tomorrow if you want to go over it.”

  “Thanks, but I’m in Greenville and won’t be back in Santee until the weekend. I need some advice about a case.”

  “What kind of advice?”

  Alexia couldn’t believe what she was doing, but plowed ahead. “I’m in my hotel room and wanted to pray about a court hearing, but I’m having problems. I’ve never asked God to be involved in one of my cases, and it didn’t seem right when my prayer sounded like the opening statement I’ve prepared for the judge.”

  Ted laughed. “That’s a good start. Most people are so busy praying their own desires that they never ask God what he thinks.”

  “I don’t know what he thinks.”

  “Ask him.”

  “I’m not sure I can hear him, and I thought you might tell me.”

  There was a brief pause. “What kind of case is it?”

  There was no ethical reason that prohibited Alexia from telling Ted the basic issue in the Richardson case. She took a deep breath.

  “It’s about Baxter Richardson.”

  Ted’s voice was immediately more serious. “How is he?”

  “Not well. We have a hearing tomorrow to determine whether his life support should be terminated.”

  “A court hearing?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought those type of decisions were up to the doctors and his family?”

  “They don’t agree, and I’m representing his wife. She wants to terminate his life support and let him go. His father doesn’t agree. The doctors are split.”

  Ted was silent for a few seconds. “So, if the judge rules in your favor, Baxter will die.”

  “Yes, they will stop hydration and artificial feeding. The most well-respected physician in the case thinks nothing else can be done, and there is no realistic chance for recovery.”

  “And you don’t feel right asking God to make the judge rule in your favor?”

  “Oh, I believe I’m right, but I’m not sure what to pray.”

  “Have you been reading your Bible?” Ted asked.

  “Yes. That’s what I was doing before I called. It’s neat how it makes sense, but there wasn’t anything that seemed to fit the situation.”

  “Then if the Lord doesn’t give you direction, simply pray that God’s will be done. It’s not a cop-out; it’s in the Lord’s Prayer. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.”

  The image of healing at the pool of Bethesda in the stained-glass window at Sandy Flats Church suddenly flashed through Alexia’s mind. She shook her head slightly and dispelled it.

  “Where is that verse from the Lord’s Prayer in the New Testament?” she asked. “I read it the other day but don’t remember.”

  “It’s in Matthew 6. I’m not sure about the exact spot. Pray the verses and keep asking the Lord for something specific. I’ll be praying about it myself.”

  “What are you going to pray?”

  “I’m not sure, but it seems a shame to give up if there is any realistic hope of recovery.”

  “I agree, but there isn’t. I’ve seen Baxter for myself. It’s incredibly sad and hopeless.”

  “When is the hearing?”

  “Tomorrow at one o’clock.”

  “Okay. And don’t feel awkward about calling,” Ted said.

  Once again the minister demonstrated his uncanny ability to read her mood.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  After she hung up the phone, Alexia turned to Matthew 6 and read the pattern prayer. The words fell flat. She was not at peace, and the thought of Ted Morgan possibly praying that she lose the case didn’t help.

  She awoke the following morning and contrary to her usual routine ate a hearty breakfast. The hearing would begin immediately after lunchtime, and she wouldn’t have anything other than a quick snack until the end of the day. As soon as the clerk of court’s office was opened, she called to find out if any of the physicians subpoenaed for the hearing had filed motions to avoid appearing in court.

  “No,” the clerk said after Alexia had waited on the line for more than five minutes. “The only papers in the file are the petition, answer, and notice of hearing.”

  “Is it still scheduled in front of Judge Holcomb?”

  “At one o’clock this afternoon.”

  After she confirmed with Dr. Draughton’s office that he would be present, Alexia spread everything out on the bed in her room. She walked back and forth in a sweat suit, visualizing the scene in the courtroom and practicing her opening remarks to the judge. At 10:45 A.M. there was a knock on the door. It was Rena.

  She was dressed in a conservative dark gray dress that made her look older but still feminine and vulnerable. Her face showed the strain of the past twenty-four hours.

  “I didn’t sleep more than an hour last night,” Rena said. She brushed past Alexia and sat down in the only comfortable chair in the room. “It’s going to be hard for me to make it through this. Are you sure I have to say something? Won’t Dr. Draughton be enough?”

  Many of Alexia’s clients talked confidently in the office about their testimony, but it didn’t always carry over to the courtroom. Rena had always been fragile. Alexia moved immediately to shore her up.

  “You hold the health care power of attorney and have to let the judge know what you want to do,” Alexia said matter-of-factly. “The other side will be waiving Ezra’s durable power of attorney all over the courtroom, and even though it has legal priority, the judge will consider what you think. Besides, you’re his wife—the person he chose and trusted.”

  Rena put her head in her hands. “I just wish he would go ahead and die!”

  Alexia kept her voice calm even though she was alarmed by the intensity of her client’s reaction. “You have every reason to be upset, but you need to channel your emotion in the right way. The judge won’t expect you to sit like a statue on the witness stand, and she obviously can’t know the whole story about what happened at the waterfall. You said you’d forgiven Baxter, but it’s impossible not to have mixed feelings. Put that behind you for the next few hours. The important thing is that you focus on why you want his life support stopped.” Alexia spoke slowly. “Let’s practice. Mrs. Richardson, why do you want to terminate life support for your husband?”

  Rena sighed. “It’s the merciful thing to stop his suffering, and it’s what Baxter would want if he could tell us.”

  “Good words, but it sounds flat. Say it like you believe it.”

  Rena repeated the sentence.

  “That’s better. Let’s back up to the beginning so you can build up to it. I’ve also thought of a few more questions Ken Pinchot may ask you.”

  An hour passed quickly. Alexia looked at her watch.

  “We need to leave in a few minutes, and I have to change clothes.”

  Alexia put on a traditional black business suit. She didn’t know anything about Judge Holcomb, and it was always better to err on the side of conservative clothes when going to court. With Alexia carrying her largest briefcase and a large portfolio containing medical illustrations and charts, the two women left the hotel. It was a fifteen-minute drive to the courthouse. They rode in silence from the hotel. Alexia’s mind was churning, and Rena wasn’t in the mood for chatter. Turning into the parking lot, Alexia looked for Ken Pinchot’s silver Mercedes but didn’t see it.

  Once they passed the security checkpoint, the shiny hallway on the main floor of the building was deserted. It was Friday afternoon, and most of the business of the week had been concluded. The courtroom was on the third floor, and they stepped from the elevator into a narrow hall lined with dark wooden doors differentiated by numbers on brass plates. They located Courtroom 302 and pushed open the door.

  Ezra Richardson was already seated at one of the counsel tables. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening. Alexia looked for Ken Pinchot and saw him huddled in the back c
orner of the room with Drs. Berman and Kolb. Dr. Draughton was not in sight. Alexia led the way to the other counsel table, positioned Rena at the opposite end from Ezra, and began unpacking her briefcase.

  A large clock hung on the back wall of the courtroom. It was 12:50 P.M. Alexia wanted to grab a few minutes with Berman and Kolb, who were in the back talking to Pinchot. The lawyer didn’t seem like he was in a hurry. She suspected he intended to keep them occupied until the judge entered the courtroom. She leaned over to Rena.

  “I’m going to break up the conversation in the rear of the room.”

  She walked up to the three men.

  Before she could speak, Pinchot said, “Just a minute, Alexia, I’m not quite finished.”

  “The judge will be coming out in a minute,” she responded. “I need to speak to the doctors before the hearing.”

  Pinchot gave her an ingratiating smile. “Of course. I’ll try to hurry.”

  Alexia had no choice but to retreat. She returned to her counsel table but kept one eye on Ken and the other on the rear door of the courtroom. The absence of Dr. Draughton was beginning to be a matter of concern. Ken prolonged his discussion until the judge walked into the courtroom through a side door behind the bench.

  “All rise!” the deputy on duty commanded.

  Judge Holcomb was a tall, slender woman with magnificent white hair. She was wearing black judicial robes with reading glasses suspended from her neck by a silver chain. Women who had spent more than forty years in the law were uncommon, and for a southern woman to attend law school in South Carolina in the late 1950s was almost as radical as the notion of a female cadet at the Citadel. She glanced imperiously around the courtroom.

  “Be seated and come to order. Proceed for the petitioner.”

  The judge’s voice was clear and strong. She spoke with a distinctly southern accent more commonly heard in Charleston than the mountains of the Piedmont. It was clear who would be in charge of the hearing. Outside the courtroom, the judge might be a doting grandmother, but behind the bench she was robed in black steel.